


Snapshots from a life on the road with Dean

by Ischa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:36:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all, really.</p><p><i>Well, things are going to hell and stuff. Shouldn’t be something to think about – because, honestly, things are always weird in your life.<br/>He stands outside and waits for you, his fingers are playing with a matchbox (probably from a strip club or something. You really don’t want to think about it.) </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshots from a life on the road with Dean

**Title:** Snapshots from a life on the road with Dean  
 **Pairing:** none  
 **Rating:** PG - 13  
 **Summary:** The title says it all, really.  
 **Warning(s):** I would say none.  
 **Author’s Notes:** This is a gen fic. Or, well, these are gen drabbles.  
 **Word Count:** 1.336  
 **Beta:** asm-z  
 **Disclaimer:** Don’t know, don’t own, not real

\--+--  
~1~  
Cupcake

 

You don’t know where Dad is, because…well, he usually doesn’t tell you something like that. You suspect he tells Dean – maybe that’s enough.  
He’s days gone now and you’re short on money. You hope he will be back soon but you don’t believe it.  
Dean’s as lively as a gravestone. You really can’t blame him, you blame Dad. Of course.

“Here.” You say.

“We are short on money. You know that, right?”

“Well…”

“Where is yours?” He says, grinning.

“Ate it already!” You lie smoothly.

He smiles and bites into his cupcake. You try hard not to smile in return.

 

~2~  
Waves

 

Another crappy motel.  
The light isn’t working. You would suggest some candles, but he would laugh and call you a pansy – so you don’t.  
He turns the TV on instead. It’s an old black and white movie. The light gives the room a creepy atmosphere. You really wish for something nice and bright and warm…  
He says something, but you are too far in your own world to hear him.  
You startle when he puts a shell to your ear. You can hear the waves in it, feel his body heat and you think: Dean is warm, bright and nice.

 

~3~  
The day after

 

A groan, a moan and some sheets rustling.  
You try hard not to grin.  
More moaning.  
You dodge a pillow – he really isn’t a morning person.  
You’re sure you’re losing your battle against the grin. (You aren’t trying that hard…so it’s okay.)

“I don’t feel like I could puke at any moment anymore. But, dude, I really would kill for some of these nice little pills that make you feel so much better…” he says.

“Remember anything about yesterday?”

“What?” he sounds vaguely panicked.  
You are so losing against the grin.

“One word: Table-dancing.”

More moaning and then: “Oh god.”

 

~4~  
Shells

 

You know you had to leave the town. But still…you just can’t forget. Sometimes you wonder how he can be so numb to it all, because you know he is. (Now more than ever.)  
He turns the radio on and you risk a glance. Nothing. Or maybe…everything.  
“You o.k.?”

You don’t answer.

“Are you o.k.?” he asks again.

You nod. Well, more or less.

“You sure?” He does sound concerned. You nod again.

“Are you?” you ask a little later.

“Sammy…”

You turn away to stare out of the car window.  
They’re playing Black Sabbath and he hums to it.

 

~5~  
Trade

 

Blood is dripping on the carpet.  
He wraps a towel around his arm. Well, you will patch him up and he will be okay again.  
Usually people will think at a time like this something like: Is this really how I want to spend my life?  
It isn’t how you wanted it to be; it isn’t what you dreamed about when you didn’t dream about monsters and blood and your brother hurt.  
It isn’t perfect (far from); it isn’t safe (you want to laugh).

“Look, Sammy! A Mickey Mouse-plaster,” he says grinning.  
You know you wouldn’t want to trade it.

 

~6~  
Sunrise

 

Well, things are going to hell and stuff. Shouldn’t be something to think about – because, honestly, things are always weird in your life.  
He stands outside and waits for you, his fingers are playing with a matchbox (probably from a strip club or something. You really don’t want to think about it.)  
You’re leaning on the counter, waiting for the coffee you both need and stealing glances in his direction.  
He looks grumpy. It’s too early for him – it’s too early for anyone.

“Wanna watch the sunrise with me?” You ask.

“Feeling girly this morning?”

“Maybe,” you say. He laughs.

 

~7~  
Fade

 

When you’re lying awake at night on one of the crappy motel beds, you try to recollect.  
Sometimes you think you remember.  
Not light or warmth or some of the cliché things people talk about when they talk about death.  
Peace doesn’t describe it either. Jessica wasn’t waiting for you or even Mary. (You’re pretty sure you’ve known that.)  
You can sometimes see flashes of something; feel something but it’s always out of your reach.  
It fades away with the first stir, the first soft groan, the first mumbled word in the morning. (Which is “Sammy” or “Coffee” or “Damn”)

 

~8~  
The hunter’s wife

 

Not a motel room this time.  
A cabin, somewhere nowhere. You can’t really remember how you got here – it doesn’t matter anyway. It seems pretty safe.  
She appears right in front of you, a pale shiny thing. No more than a reflection in a dirty window. She looks old and harsh – like she’d had a hard life. Probably she had.

“A hunter?” she asks and points a bony finger at Dean, who sleeps like dead. You nod.

“Harsh life, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Exciting.”

“Dangerous.”

“Lonely, too.” She smiles. “Not for you.”

“Not for me,” you answer, and look at Dean.

 

~9~  
Hoodie

 

“Ahmm…”

“Just shut up.” He says.

“You know, that kinda looks funny…I…” You try not to laugh.

“Just shut up, really.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll kick your ass?” he says.

“As if! Why in hell are you wearing my clothes anyway?” you ask; he really looks too funny, cute even, in your hoodie.

“Couldn’t find a single clean shirt,” he says, but he doesn’t look at you.

Jessica’s mom slept with her dead husband’s shirt; she told you that once. You really don’t want to think about Dean’s reason too much right now…

“Well…”

“Just shut up, will you?!”

You will.

 

~10~  
American Saturday Night

 

It’s not a big surprise to find yourself in a dark corner of a shabby bar because you often find yourself in a shabby bar when things aren’t going to hell…well, once in a while things turn out alright. (Saved children, banished spirits.)  
You’re watching Dean chatting up a pretty girl at the counter. You have to smile because really…HE is the one with the psychic powers for sure. You wondered more than once when you were younger if Dean has some hidden evil powers himself…like making women do anything he wants them to do…(Mind control would explain SO much…really.)

 

~11~  
By the Sword

 

“That doesn’t look good,” he says.

“I’ll live…” There isn’t anything else to do anyway, you think.

He shrugs and starts the car.  
Before all this he would have bitched around and then patched you up.

“Don’t bleed all over my baby,” he says.

“The hell, Dean!”

“What?!”

“Nothing.” Everything.

“You’re such a girl…”

Well, maybe…you think.

Silence.

“You have to learn to take care of yourself.”

“Do you think I’ll do this after you’re…”

“Dead? You won’t?”

“I was done hunting,” you say.

“Yeah…” he says and shrugs.

There is a silent as if between you.

 

~12~  
The Silent Things

 

The unspoken things are never silent, as the dead are never powerless. They scream in the space between you. Want to be heard, noticed. Most of the time you really don’t hear them, you are too busy: keeping yourself alive, saving people, hunting.  
You’re sure he can hear the unspoken things too.  
Sometimes.  
More often than not.  
You are good at pretending; so when he asks if there is something wrong, you say no and believe it – for a while, until the next whisper lets you lie awake at night; wondering. (You know he does the same thing for you.)

 

~13~  
Loaded Guns

 

You know you don’t need weapons to hurt Dean. He doesn’t need any to hurt you.

“Would you’ve stopped if I’d have died?”

“Doesn’t matter, you’re not going to die.” The first blow.

“Dean.”

“What?” A shallow cut.

“Answer me.”

“Go to hell!”

“Save me a seat!” A twist of the knife.

“Just shut up, I don’t want to talk about it!” Staring down the barrel of a 45.

“You never want to talk!”

“Right.”

“We don’t have time…you’re going to die. I need to know.” The first bullet.

Words spoken from the heart and the heart is the worst weapon.

 

~end~


End file.
